All The Pretty Girls
by ragingshiftingwindsofchange
Summary: Post-Reichenbach one-shot told from John's POV. Inspired by the FUN. song which lends its name to the title of the story. Contains spoilers for season 2 of sherlock


Day 293: I woke up this morning, and made myself some coffee and toast. I went to work and saw some patients. I treated their ailments and conditions. I had lunch with Mary at the café nearby the office. I came back in the afternoon and saw the rest of my patients. I had an appointment with Ella today. We talked about how my week was going and what I was doing and if I was updating my blog, which, obviously, I am. I came home and ate leftover Chinese from last night. Now, I am posting this blog update because not much more is likely to happen today.

Dr. John Watson paused. He let his fingers hover over the keyboard, and wondered to himself if he should end this post the way he had ended the other 292 since...since it happened. He talked to Ella, and having Mary around was helpful, and most of the time he could let himself forget for a little while. He could forget that there was a giant invisible weight on his shoulders that made it hard to do nearly anything except sleep and watch telly. But, today, he was feeling better. His bad leg didn't even hurt as much. Still, why break a habit in one day? He typed slowly:

I miss Sherlock.

He immediately erased it, and posted his daily update online. John had not missed one since the day Sherlock died. Not even when Harry and Clara got remarried, and not even on the night he brought Mary home with him for the first time. He would forever remain the blogger.

Just as John was about to get undressed for the evening, his phone rang. He checked his watch, who the hell would be calling at 11:10 at night? The caller ID said it was Mike Stamford.

"Hello?"

"John! Hi, it's Mike! Didn't wake you, did I?"

John sat on his bed, rubbing his bad leg. "No, not at all. What's going on?"

"Well, I was actually just about to head down to a pub nearby your flat and I was wondering if you wanted to join me." John pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to quickly think of some excuse, but it was as if Mike had anticipated that, "Now, I know you're probably going to make up some kind of excuse, but," he paused, "we're kind of worried about you. I mean, it's been a while since I've seen you."

John bit the inside of his lip, wondering why in the hell they would be worried about him. "No reason to worry, Mike. Really, I'm fine. Thanks for the offer."

"So, will you be coming then?"

"Mmm, not tonight, I don't think so."

"You sure, John?"

Was he sure? It was awfully kind-hearted of Mike to try and pull John out of his cave that he both adored and despised hiding in. And part of John figured that Mike understood that all he really wanted was a good excuse to go out, but nothing really ever felt as exciting anymore. Not without Sherlock.

"I'm really fine, Mike. Thanks for the call."

"Yeah, no problem." Mike responded hesitantly.

"Talk to you later, then?"

"Yeah, cheers." John hung up the phone and started doing his nightly stretches that the doctor had said would help with his leg. As he rotated his legs back and forth, he couldn't help but hear Mike Stamford's voice ringing in his ear. It's been a while since we've seen you, John. We're kind of worried about you, John. Well when was the last time he had been out of the house for something besides work or a meeting with Ella? He usually was with Mary at home or at the office, and, on occasion, they went out to see a movie. He hadn't been to a bar in months or to a club in years. Granted, he was too old to get pissed, stay out until dawn, and sleep all day. But, maybe he could at least get a taste of night air in London and see if it could cheer him up.

Walking down the streets of London, John felt young again. He was back in his twenties, strolling with his buddies from St. Bart's, perhaps and a girl on his arm, heading out for a night they would never forget for the third time that week. They would have already finished a couple of beers at their favorite pub and would be scouting out a dance club where they could spend the night. For the first time since Sherlock he felt like he was truly alive (or at least getting there). He felt as though he could take on anybody or anything.

He turned down a street, and found himself in the center of London nightlife. Everywhere he looked he saw groups of young people dressed as if they should be on a runway in Italy rather than the streets of downtown London. Conversations were happening all around him and they were all bouncing around in his head as he tried to calm down.

He casually started walking down the street, silently thanking himself for forgetting his cane at the flat, and he watched people look at him. John was never fantastic at reading people's expressions, but he got the sense that he was wildly underdressed (or overdressed depending on how you look at it) and definitely not the target age group for this part of town. In an attempt to at least get out of the judgemental eyes of London's premier youth, John ducked into the first pub he saw.

Inside, it wasn't much better. The pub was dimly lit with old wooden furnitie haphazardly placed all over the room. There were signed football posters mounted on the walls, and John couldn't help but get the feeling that he was out of place. The pub he had chosen was clearly intended for singles to pick people up for one night stands. He sat down at the bar, and ordered a beer, just to have something to do.

Immediately to his left, the end of a conversation was escalating, "What do you mean, you don't like Doctor Who? Who doesn't like Doctor Who?" Said a man in a tweed brown jacket with elbox patches. John could just imagine that there was a bowtie on the other side of him.

"I dunno," The girl he was talking to shrugged. John couldn't see her face. "It's just not my thing. You know, some people like Doctor who. Other people like other kinds of television. Or going shopping."

John stopped listening because he knew how it was going to end. The man left the pub angrily (sure enough, he was wearing a bowtie), and the girl smiled into her martini. She was rather attractive, blonde, large-breasted, way too young for John, and, in any case, he was spoken for. But that didn't mean he couldn't flirt just a little bit.

"Hi," He kind of barked in her general direction. She didn't look up. "Um, hello?"

She jerked her head in John's direction. "Oh, hi there."

"I'm John."

"Elisabeth."

"How are you?"

"Oh, I'm lovely, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm great. What are you drinking? I could buy you another..." He trailed off. What was he doing?

"That's alright, thanks. I've got this one here." She lifted the drink above her head and giggled. "Aaaand I think this might be one too many already."

"Oh, alright then." John sipped his beer, and didn't notice Elisabeth scoot over to the bar seat next to him.

"So, John, what brings you to this part of town on this lovely evening?" He looked up startled.

"Well, I live not too far from here, and I was kind of getting tired of sitting alone in my flat, so..."

"Oh, that's lovely!" She finished off the drink in one gulp. "Yeah, I live not to far away as well. I just needed to get away for a bit and get out, doesn't it just make you feel alive?"

John smiled amusedly, "Yeah, it's quite a nice feeling, that is. I used to have this friend, he could spend hours in his flat, never saying a word, not even noticing that somebody had left." What? Why did that even have the slightest bit of relevance to the conversation?

She nodded at him. "Weird sort of bloke, eh?"

"Yeah, bit weird, he was."

"Was?"

"Oh, he died about ten months ago."

"What?" She gripped John's shoulder in disbelief. Why was he even taking the conversation down this path?

"Yeah, but it's not really a big deal. Tell me something about you."

She forgot about it at the prospect of talking about herself. "Well, I work as a temp at this insurance company. Good job, good money, nice flat, two dogs, see my mum and dad every other weekend. It's a nice life."

"I got shot in the leg in Afghanistan."

"What?" Elisabeth looked down at John's legs, almost as if she was trying to determine which one was the bad one.

"Nevermind. Would you excuse me for a minute? Won't be long." Before she could even respond, John was in the pub's restroom, disgusting little place. He stood in front of the mirror, stared at his reflection and thought, What is the matter with you? Can you go an entire conversation without bringing him up? Maybe I could actually make people think that I'm normal for once. Just don't talk about Sherlock!

John went back into the pub, and, sure enough, Elisabeth was gone. No surprise there, John thought as he sat back down at a different side of the bar. He got another beer, and saw the girl who was sitting two stools away from him. She must have been in her late twenties, brunette, sexy, with a definite edge of mystery about her.

"Hi," John waved at her, immediately forcing himself to stop. "I'm John. What's your name?"

"Penelope. Nice to meet you." She smiled at John; it was a lovely smile.

"Nice to meet you too. How are you doing tonight?"

"I'm fantastic, actually." She said sarcastically while typing something on her mobile.

"Why's that?"

"Well, my friends have just left me for the evening, and I'm stranded at this bar. So, I'm trying to find out what there even is to do around here because I have no idea where the hell I am."

"I'm sorry to hear about that." John said, and, against his better judgement, kept talking. "I used to have this friend; he knew every street in London. This one time..."

"Look, I don't really have time to listen to your stories which we both know that I don't really care about." She stood up and pulled her purse close under her arm. "I'm sure your friend is lovely-"

"Was." John muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She paused, "Anyway, I just need to find a way back to civilization. So, I'm going to head off. It was nice meeting you, John."

"You too, Penelop-" But she was already gone. Out the door of the pub, and keeping John alone with alcohol for the second time that night.

What was wrong with him tonight? He knew this wasn't going to end well no matter what happened, so what was he doing in this pub? And if Mary ever found out she would feel completely betrayed. Would he even tell Mary about this? Probably not. John was sure she kept secrets from him, so he was definitely entitled to have a life outside of their relationship, right?

In any case, he decided that sitting alone at the bar was never going to do him any good, so he picked up his beer, and walked over to a redhead sitting alone at a table. "Hello, mind if I sit down with you?" God, he sounded so moronic.

"Not at all." She squeaked. "What's your name?"

"John. And you?"

"I'm Tiffany." She sipped something pink out of a martini glass, and John finished his beer.

"How are you doing tonight?"

"I'm pretty alright." She giggled, clearly tipsy.

"Just pretty alright?"

She smiled. "Well, a bit better now that you're here." John smiled back at her. "And how are you doing tonight?"

"Oh, I'm brilliant, I suppose."

"Yeah? Good night?"

"Seems so." John drummed his fingers on the table, trying to think of something to say. "Do you know much about astronomy?"

"What?" She smiled nervously.

"I used to have this friend, and he didn't really know anything about astronomy. Didn't even know that the earth revolved around the sun!" John laughed to himself; Tiffany drained her glass.

"Um, that's weird, I suppose. I had a boyfriend once who could name a lot of different stars."

"Wow, that's brilliant."

"Yeah, he was brilliant."

They sat in silence for too many seconds. "So, what do you do for a living?"

She perked up at that. "I run a fashion blog."

"Oh, really? Do you enjoy that?"

"Oh, I love it! Really, it's my dream job. I couldn't imagine doing anything else. I just get to write about fashion all day and keep myself updated on the latest trends. It's a fantastic job."

"I'm a doctor."

"Oh my, isn't that lovely? You must have so little free time..."

"Actually, I get quite a bit. It's nice. No weekends."

"Mhm." Tiffany sighed as she drained the last of her pink mystery drink. "Well, John, I suppose it was lovely to sit and talk with you, but I think I'm going to go home for the night. Make sure my roommate doesn't choke on her own vomit."

"Yeah, lovely." Tiffany ran out of the pub as fast as she could. John saw her out the window on her phone, laughing, presumably telling her friend, her mother, maybe even her boyfriend about the oddest bloke who she met in the pub. John could feel his hand clenching into a fist.

Just then, three girls stumbled over to the table and said, "D'ya mind if we sit here? Sorry, it's just the only table with room."

John stood, and muttered, "Not a problem," and ran as fast as his legs would allow him. Out of the pub, down the street, and back up the four flights of stairs to his flat, John sat on his bed and look at the clock. 12:42 AM - pathetic. Ten years ago, he could have stayed out for hours and talked up countless women (successfully, at that), and drank more beer than all the people in that pub combined. But now he was old, and he had seen too much. He didn't have the friends he used to; he didn't even have his best friend anymore. He was a different John Watson, and he couldn't be expected to do younger John Watson things. He was stupid to think that anything could ever be normal again.

Nothing would ever be the same again.


End file.
